


sugar, we're going down swinging

by winchesters



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: M/M, ain't nothing wrong with a little bump and grind, sweet princes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-09-19
Packaged: 2017-12-18 05:28:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/876136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winchesters/pseuds/winchesters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not the first that Theon and Robb have come to blows. But this time, their scuffle turns into something else entirely. Smutty, etc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry 'bout the Fall Out Boy title. But if that song doesn't get you seriously pumped, I don't even know what to say to you. Please enjoy, review if you feel inclined to do so.

"You fight like a girl, Stark."   
Theon easily parries Robb's thrust, and smashes the end of his wooden practice sword into the other boy's chest. Robb staggers backwards, wincing, and drops his sword.   
"Seven hells, do you always have to hit so hard?"   
Theon smirks and leans on his sword like it's a walking stick.   
"Maybe I'll have a go at little Underfoot next. I'm sure she'd hold up better than you, Lady Stark."   
Arya's hanging around the practice yard, as usual, and she appears at the mention of her unfortunate but accurate nickname. Robb doesn't notice. He's trying (and failing) to resist the urge to punch the smirk off of Theon's face. Arya snatches Robb's fallen sword and takes a stab at Theon. The ironborn steps aside and she stumbles, impaling the dulled wooden blade in the thick mud. Theon chuckles.  
"You Starks are all the same," he says loudly. Then, to Arya:   
"Don't worry, lassie. You're not the only girl in the practice yard."   
He throws a pointed look at Robb. Robb throws a punch towards Theon, catching him in the side of the jaw. The ward lurches backwards, caught off-balance by the blow. He retaliates quickly, however, socking Robb square in the face. They both stand for a split second, eyes locked, full of fire, and then they're at each other's throats, lunging like animals, punching and grabbing and kicking. Theon knees Robb in the stomach, and Robb kicks him in the shin, and they both go down, snarling, into the squelching mud of the practice yard. Arya is shouting at them, what sounds like 'beat him, Robb, knock his stupid teeth out!' and suddenly strong hands are pulling them apart, wrenching Robb from his position over Theon. It's Ser Rodrick, and he holds Robb back while Theon slowly rises to his feet. He has a bad cut on his lip, and a black eye. Robb is sure that he looks no better; both of them will be sporting impressive bruises by morning.   
"What is the meaning of this nonsense?" Ser Rodrick demands, releasing Robb.   
“We were-” Theon begins, and Robb finishes,  
“He insulted me. He insulted my house!”   
Ser Rodrick fixes both of them with a glare that could cut through steel.   
“If you two ever decide to duel in this yard again as you did today, it will be with live steel in your hands. Understood?”   
Robb’s hands are shaking and his right eye is smarting, but he nods anyway. So does Theon.   
“Good. Now go and clean yourselves up, lads. And Arya, I believe that a certain Septa Mordane has been looking all over the keep for you.”   
Robb and Theon sulk off to the pump behind the armory where Theon strips off his boiled leather tunic and shirt while Robb leans against the wall. At first he stares sullenly into middle distance. Then he watches with mild interest as Theon bends over to pump the freezing water over his torso. Robb can’t help but admire his muscled body, lean and spry. Theon’s always bragged about how the Iron Islands breed hard men, and it’s certainly true if the ward is any indication. He doesn’t seem to mind the icy water, even though gooseflesh prickles his arms. Robb wonders briefly if the cold flow reminds him of home.   
When both of them have scrubbed off most of the dirt and blood, Robb quickly dresses again while Theon lingers in the icy chill. There is a smear of blood drying scarlet against his cheekbone. Robb steps forwards, and, before he knows it, he’s reaching out to wipe it away.   
Theon jerks backwards automatically, recoiling from Robb’s touch.   
‘Oh gods,’, Robb thinks, ‘he’s going to hit me again.’ But Theon doesn’t. Instead, he stands there for a moment, chest rising and falling rapidly, and then he lunges forwards and presses his lips against Robb’s. There is a moment of hesitation as they consider the tangible wrongness of the kiss, and then Theon’s mouth is hot and desperate against Robb’s. He pins the Stark boy against the brick wall of the armory with strong hands and hard kisses. Robb has never thought of himself as particularly submissive, but he enjoys the sensation of Theon pinning him down, dominating him.   
He lets out a high-pitched whine, and his father’s ward smirks against his mouth.  
“Let’s take this inside, wolf-boy.”


	2. oh yeah, we're going down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Theon and Robb duke it out, and not with their fists.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize profusely to anyone who had to wait while I wrote this chapter. Hope you enjoy it!

Robb allows himself to be lead inside by Theon, and goes willingly up the narrow staircase that leads to the boys' chambers. Robb and Jon have always shared a room, but Theon has his own between theirs and Bran's. When the older boy locks the door and shoves Robb against it, he lets out a loud groan and then prays that none of the younger boys-or anyone else, for that matter-can hear them. Theon pulls back, his mouth red, pale cheeks flushed, his eyes wild with a dark pleasure. He runs a hand through Robb's tangled curls, yanking back and it almost hurts but it feels  _good_. He presses a sharp kiss, all teeth and tongue, to Robb's neck, the sensitive skin over his collarbone. The places where Theon's mouth touches him feel like fire. Theon strips Robb of his jerkin and shirt, then pushes him backwards until his knees hit the edge of Theon's bed and he tumbles backwards onto the pelts. Theon gives him a wicked grin, then straddles him easily, knees on either side of Robb's hips. He bends to press a kiss to his neck, sucking hard at the skin like he's  _marking_ him. 

"Stark," Theon says quietly, pinning Robb's wrists to the bed. "I am going to _undo you_." 

The words send a rush of heat to the pit of Robb's stomach. He feels himself getting harder, and when Theon rubs himself against his cock, he moans.

"Gods, Theon, please-" 

Theon's fingers nimbly unlace Robb's breeches, and oh god he's so hard, and he's desperate for friction, for release, and Theon's mouth is moving lower and lower. 

And then-oh _gods_ -Theon's mouth is covering the head of his cock, and Robb has never felt anything like it in all his life. It's not like he hasn't finished himself off with his hands before, furtivly and in the dead of night when Jon is asleep. But it's different when it's his own hands, not someone else's mouth, not his  _father's ward_ making those obscene noises, sort of moaning around his cock like he's  _enjoying_ this. 

"Oh-oh  _gods_ Theon," Robb groans, his breath catching in his throat. He can feel himself getting close, so he thrusts up into Theon's mouth, choking,

"Theon, I'm going to-"

And then he's coming into Theon's mouth, crying out in ectasy. Robb's not sure what happens after that...he assumes that Theon swallows, then glides back up to press a salty kiss to Robb's slack mouth. Theon is hard, his stiff cock grinding against Robb's thigh, and Robb wants to finish him with his mouth but he's not sure how, doesn't want to ruin this moment with his clumsiness. He unlaces Theon's breeches, takes him in hand. Theon moans, loudly, as Robb moves his hand up and down and his fingers are shaking but  _gods be good_ Theon is moaning like a whore and then he sort of spasms, and his hips jerk forwards, and he comes into Robb's hand.  _  
_

Theon collapses beside Robb, panting, his russet curls sticking to his forehead.

"Not bad, wolf-boy," he murmers into Robb's neck. "Not bad at all...for a Stark." 


End file.
